A Litte Thing Called Love and Deceit
by Spiffs
Summary: The golden three are back with even more gusto in their fourth year. Putting the whole World Cup scenario behind them, they decide that this year may just be normal. Of course, is anything normal with them? And who is this girl Nyx...?
1. Prolog: The Core of the Plan

"You do believe this is going to work, my Lord?"

The words were a gentle exhaling hiss, echoing dully against the damp walls, reverberating gently. The effect was haunting, honestly, and Wormtail recoiled as the sound mixed spookily with their present surroundings. Wormtail's eyes dug into the back of the head he was speaking to, a shade of white that shouldn't be seen on a human being. The head tilted from its perch, lying immobile on the cushions of the chair's armrest, a hump of white peeking from the black wall that cut Wormtail from his master. There was silence—full, cold silence that settled over the three that occupied the room, a never moving pressure against them. Nagini's triangular head rose, slanted eyes peering with scrutiny at Wormtail, giving him a snake's version of a once over. The plump, yet scrawny man shot the snake a dark look, watery, shifty eyes falling on the lump of white that was Lord Voldemort.

It made his heart race uncomfortably. "Sir?" Wormtail's voice was cracked; a jagged, sharp mockery of his actual voice, which wasn't much to listen to at all. The silence was almost foreboding, any catastrophe that Voldemort planned to follow his impatient, piped syllable was deadly, and the thought crept slowly into Wormtail's mind, causing him to slouch forward, almost cowering.

"You feel as though you could whimper, Wormtail."

Wormtail just about did. The sound of his voice was almost a monotone—a high-pitched voice that he wished he didn't have to hear. His feet itched to back away, and the small grunts he heard from the spin-able chair was easily interpreted into his wanting to have the chair turn around. Wormtail didn't want to rest his eyes on the small, feeble, yet terrifying Lord Voldemort, but what his master said went. "Feel, sir?" It trembled. His voice trembled and teetered awkwardly in fear, and he hushed himself too late. Voldemort's attempts to twist the chair around ceased, and what color Wormtail had in his face drained. He rushed forward, hands spinning the chair slowly, the small, baby like appearance of Lord Voldemort coming into view. Wormtail silenced his noisy breaths, now coming out in panting wheezes.

"Nagini needs to be milked."

Punishment would have been better than this. Wormtail backed from the chair, kneeling upon a knee, eyes pried from the unearthly sight of The Dark Lord. He wouldn't like that—he wouldn't like that at all. "—Wormtail." His eyes snapped to attention, agonizingly meeting the harsh cold of his eyes. He felt his bones chill. The way he spoke was cold, harsh, if not—normal. No spells cast to make his bones grow at odd angles, no form of physical—well, magical—punishment. Just cold words, the bit of anger that The Dark Lord had sunk himself to barely hint in the sharpness of his voice. It caught him off guard, and this made his master unpredictable. He couldn't interpret his actions, and was therefore on the weaker end of the deal. Not that he was ever not on the weaker end.

"Yes, sir."

He could barely get himself to whisper the words, body shifting to lift his bulk from the ground, and milk the snake. Nagini's triangular head tilted slightly, as if daring Wormtail to come closer. He hesitated, scolded himself for the act, and felt his legs push up. His knees buckled, but he held stiff, walking with a wobble to the large animal resting in a black coil by the chair.

"Yes, Wormtail, feel." Hissed Voldemort, straying from the thought at hand. Wormtail blinked once, pausing to glance up at his master with uncertainty. Why was he changing the subject? Did he not want to be nourished from Nagini?

"It is magic beyond my comprehension. I can feel your actions, when your fingers tremble before you touch my skin. I can feel your hesitation before you feed me. I know you are scared of me, you fear me, your master." There was a pause, and Wormtail took back his hands once hovering inches from Nagini. "You fear me, Wormtail, do not bother denying it." Wormtail didn't want to answer it, but instead tried to look like he was in thought. It was futile, he knew, for Voldemort could feel his actions, apparently, but he was making a good show of it. At least it would amuse him. Hadn't they begun talking about the plan? The plan that He thought was brilliant. That Wormtail had to gush and applaud, though he honestly did not know if it could work. The seconds ticked on, and Voldemort didn't seem like he was expecting anything. Wormtail let the question remain unanswered, hands falling to his lap, pooling there as his eyes strayed from the huge snake.

"But we began by talking about the plan, did we not?" When Voldemort chuckled, Wormtail felt it in the marrow of his bones. Like nails dragging down a chalkboard, the sound made him cringe. How did he know what he was thinking? Coincidence.

"I see you do not believe that my plan will work. You do not look me in the eye, Wormtail." Wormtail cringed at this, eyes still averted from both Voldemort and his snake. "The plan will work. Dumbledore isn't as wonderful as he may be known to be." Voldemort spat the sentence, the word Dumbledore giving him a look of both anger and regret. He pushed it aside, and Wormtail ignored the fact he put raw emotions into his sentences. He would like that. Wormtail only wished to please.

"Have you someone to do the job?" Another pause that pushed to the corners of the room. It was a big job, and he wasn't sure if many would be able to do it. It would involve holding a secret close, and never letting it slip. Not once. Wormtail wasn't even sure Voldemort knew someone he could trust enough with the job. The thought was impossible, and he felt his insides claw at the thought of bringing the matter up. He merely let his eyes wander upward, not exactly watching his master, but straying to the black leather of the chair.

"I, in fact, do have someone." Murmured Lord Voldemort. Shock settled like pins into his skin, and he half shuddered as his eyes met his master's, surprise reeking from the hallows of his dull eyes. "You've—you've found someone for the job?" The Dark Lord gazed down at Wormtail in disgust. "I have not just _found_ who I need, but rather _made_." His voice came at a dangerous hiss, and Wormtail made himself silence, shooting to his stubby legs and backing away. "I have not doubted you once, my Lord." Gasped Wormtail, eyes shifting to the many doors that lined the large room in the Riddle Manor…as though the person that Voldemort had—_made—_were to hope out at any moment. He swallowed, fingers lacing together as he watched Voldemort regard him. "Liar." It was all he said, a low boom compared to his high voice. Wormtail inclined his head in shame, eyes mercifully shutting. "I will show you who I have for the job." Hissed Voldemort, eyes rolling behind him, the small grunts coming again as he tried to turn himself. "FOOL!" Cried Voldemort, eyes snapping to Wormtail, "Come closer, and turn my chair to face the child that I have made!" Wormtail yelped and ran forward, turning the chair as Voldemort's face cracked into a malicious smile. "COME! Come out and let Wormtail meet your eyes!" His smirk was shadowed evilly in the dimly lit room, each shadow thrown out larger than the one before. There were hallow footsteps, and the knob turned in the doorway straight ahead. The moon fogged slowly, clouds rolling gently to obscure the orb, and the milky moonlit light vanished. The flickering candles were the only source of light in the room, and they made the white, molding walls look all the more haunting.

There was an unmerciful pause as the knob turned, as though the person was having a hard time pushing through the door that had not been used for many years. There was a soft heave, a shuddering jolt through the door, and it swung open.

"Oh!" Gasped Wormtail, falling forward, hands slamming into the cold wood of the ground, eyes screwing up, trying to figure out what he was seeing. Voldemort gave a small laugh, eyes twisting around to look down at Wormtail. "The core to my plan. The core to my plan."


	2. To Platform Nine and Three Quarters

**A.N.:** _Wow, you guys are so awesome, all two of you who reviewed. xD It gives me great pleasure to know that you're liking my crap. ) It really does. Special shout out to Pokes/Sayvorie, because she's the best, best, best and she has the best, best, best fanfic ever. 3_

_She didn't choose this role  
But she'll play it and make it sincere  
So you cry, you cry  
But they believe it from the tears  
And the teeth right down to the blood   
At her feet   
Boys will be boys  
Hiding in estrogen and wearing Aubergine dreams  
_

It came upon Nyx with settling finality that Platform Nine and Three Quarters was fake, and that was that. It was a test to sort through the clever and the dimmer; and, of course, she fit into the latter. There was simply nothing she could do about it, and at this point, it was fine by her. With an inward groan, she tugged the cart forward, cowering like the teenager she was at the odd looks. The soot black cauldron rested merrily on top of a suitcase, and the odd names of her school books didn't help the matter. People were trying to give subtle glances—at the corner of their eye they sized up Nyx and her large load of luggage, who tried to look as small as possible.

The wall loomed before her like a monster, and the only thing Nyx could do was to stare back at it defiantly. Five minutes 'till the train would leave.

"Forget it!" She gave a small cry, though it was drowned out from the many murmurs and shouts of other people, the creaking of carts and turning of rusty wheels. She gave a noise of exasperation, and shoved the cart forward, expecting a satisfying bang against the wall, and a huge crash to settle her nerves.

"HOLY—" through the wall she tilted, cart sliding silky smooth through the brick wall, eyes widening in horror as her own body dug into the wall, simply moving through it as easily as walking through a door. People, luckily, had become bored with her oddities and kept their eyes away—and with that, Nyx slid through the wall, entering platform Nine and Three Quarters.

_I'm changing trains the station remains  
Footsteps in the stairwell echo  
I lost track of days  
I found thousands of ways  
But how to quit you, nobody knows_

The owl gently vaulted from his outstretched arms, wings opening, the pale outline of the letter strapped to its leg. Harry's eyes watched him as he left, swooping upward, wheeling once, and catching a shaft of air current, speeding his flight. Elbows propped against the window, he followed the owl until he was little more than a speck of black against the rolling gray clouds outside. Errol had finally decided enough was enough, and kept himself in his cage. He looked half dead, but the poor guy didn't need to be flown once again. Pig was an option, but only a small spark. He didn't know if Ron would really like him using his owl, however he complained about him. It may take as long as Hedwig and that wasn't fair to Ron.

Then, earlier this morning, a letter came from The Ministry, and shoved against the large, tawny owl's leg was a large letter to accompany the head bobbing in the fireplace, in case Amos Diggory's bobbing head in the fireplace. Though it was probably not allowed, Harry had taken the owl, and used it for himself, probably violating some rule or another, but he was growing scared and impatient. The two emotions didn't mix, and he hastily carried the owl to the top floor of The Burrow, wrote out a second letter, and let the owl fly.

Now he sat, still watching the gray sky, as rain gently cascaded down, growing heavier and heavier. The droplet slid down his arms and hands, balanced on the stone of the windowpane as his glasses fogged. At least if Sirius didn't get the first letter, he'd get the second. Or so he hoped.

"Harry, dear, we're leaving!"

He could barely make out the sound of Mrs. Weasley calling him, he was up so high. With a glance back out the window he shut it, the thud it made bringing his mind back from the fog. He stood up, balancing himself as best he could (he could swear he was standing at an angle), and tried walking forward. The house was teetering gently, groaning against the will of the woodwork, but magic twined itself taut around each fiber, reflecting off the forceful gravity yearning to bring it down. Harry dug his heels to the ground, trying to keep himself upward, succeeding as best he could, and flung himself through the doorframe, stumbling down the steps, and onto the landing of The Burrow.

"Harry, dear," snickered two forms hovering at the stair's railing, "be a dear and come down whenever possible. We have all day, you know. Take a shower—why not?" There was a chuckle, and a head of flaming hair suddenly came into actual view. "Grab a bit to eat, brush up on your charms!" Squealed the other voice, taunting smirk dancing across his face. The twins jumped from the railing that hid them, blowing kisses in the process. Harry grinned back like a fool, hopping down the last step with newfound gusto. Fred and George's jokes and teases never really angered him, but usually brought his spirits up. It was a good thought to know some people can be good natured in tight spots. Easy to count on Fred and George for that.

At this point the twosome were dancing around Harry, squealing and hopping, blowing kisses and brushing off unseen dust.

"Harry, don't you mind. We'll wait right here while you go prune the trees. Do some Zen gardening, if you need to relax. Yoga's an option."

They danced and mocked until Ron parted through the wall of Fred and George, dragging Harry by the arm out through the front door, and without hesitation into the cascade of cold rain. The only difference in their pace was they broke into a trot, and finally a sprint as they neared the taxi—or the three of them—being filled up with huge suitcases. Hedwig's empty cage was nestled in there, and Harry felt a twang of guilt and anxiety from it. Would Sirius ever get the letter? Would he get the second—would Hedwig be alright?

"Harry!"

The sound of his name broke his flurry of thoughts, and he slid into the stuffy and wet seat of the taxi, crammed against Hermione, and felt the wet of Ron's jacket against him as he slid in. Crookshanks didn't enjoy the blast of rainwater seeping through as they opened the door, and they enjoyed a few minutes of scratching until he settled down. There was silence after his name was shortly called to him, and through his fogged glasses he studied his wrist. Hermione was staring at Harry with a look of mild concern, and, as usual, Ron looked half bewildered. In the stuffy silence of the taxi the three sat, each equally uncomfortable as the taxi driver slid into his own seat, giving a small, disgusted glance at Crookshanks, and then at Pig, who was twittering like mad.

"'Right-o, chaps, off we go. 'Ye mum's gonna pay for the drive 'eh? WOTCH IT!"

Crookshanks jolted up, flying off Hermione's lap and landing on the dashboard. Confused and scared, he ricocheted off it, spitting and hissing back on Hermione's lap. There was a rumble of thunder, and a large flash of lightning.

"We'd best be off, 'eh?" Murmured the driver, unanswered and unquestioning. The key was slipping into the ignition, and Harry saw Hermione slip from her robe pocket her wand, weighing it in her hand.

"_Hermione_!" Hissed Harry, leaning against her shoulder, whispering as soft as he could in her ear. "We're not supposed to do mag—I mean…er…magazines…out of Hogwarts!"

It was unlike Hermione to even test the waters holding her wand out in the open, while a Muggle was sitting in the front seat. Hermione's brown eyes shot at Harry, both eyebrows arching. "I was given permission by Mrs. Weasley." Enough said. Harry didn't want to worry much more about it, rather letting it lay on Hermione's shoulders. He had enough to worry about at the present, though he gazed on skeptically at Hermione's outstretched wand. "We need to talk," She whispered, and Harry jolted upward. Did they know about his scar burning? Did they know about the letters sent? "And what else do we talk about but Hog—I mean, our school and…magazines?" Her voice lifted in more of a question to his crummy excuse of a substitute for magic. She gave a small grin, and Ron chuckled softly. Harry scowled. "Look, we can't talk about anything but magazines—" Another chuckle from Ron, "so I asked if we could…oh, drat, Harry, you'll see. I thought you'd be at least proud of me for this." Her mouth tilted in an upset manner, though Harry knew from experience she wasn't upset. He had gotten an owl from the Ministry for doing magic when not in Hogwarts, and it was the least that they needed right now. With a shrug, and leaning back into the leather, smelly cushions of the taxi, he relented. Hermione's wand was lifted a bit, enough that the driver couldn't see without physically moving, that triggering Hermione to give a forgetting charm. For now, she raised the wand, and under her breath murmured, "_Silencium_!"

Ron opened his mouth to say something, anything, but Hermione cut in.

With an ear splitting scream.

It carried and bounced and lingered in the car, a high pitched, breath-taking scream that did, in fact, take the breath from her. As Harry and Ron stared in disbelief and wonder, Hermione double over, knocking Crookshanks, who was sputtering like mad, claws digging into her legs. He jumped into the front, nestling uncomfortably into the passenger's seat.

"What?" She panted, inhaling once—a long, holding breath, before exhaling through her nose. "It's—a new spell…better than…other silencing charms…needed to see if it would work…" Understandable. Though Ron and Harry both were amazed Hermione had lung enough to give a scream such as that, and they were both slightly shocked.

"Oh—let it pass. Anyway. We can talk freely now." It seemed as though a weight lifted from Hermione's shoulders, for she leaned gently in the seat, eyes sliding to the rain bouncing off the windows. The driver was staring placidly ahead, as though nothing had happened, probably enjoying the silence. To him they were sitting in their seats, staring blankly out the window or down at their toes, barely shifting positions.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione remained silent, though Hermione dragged her eyes from the rain dripping down the window. She opened her mouth to say something, but closed it, instead, shooting a half hearted glare at Ron.

"…AND DID YOU SEE THE WONSKI FEINT? DID YOU? Blimey, Harry, if you could try that with your Firebolt—HOY! D'you think—I mean you don't have to agree—but—" out of breath, Ron's freckled face flashed into perfect view, eyes dancing hopefully, "I mean, maybe I could try it on the Firebolt? If you'd let me, of course. Bloody—that thing's just as well sacred!"

Ron shot into babbling about how the Firebolt was amazing, and how awesome it would be to try it. With the silence broken, Harry felt a bit better, being swept into the normality of things. The less change the better. He had probably dreamed his scar was hurting—it probably was nothing. Maybe even a headache from lack of food.

Hermione's eyes lingered across Harry's face. Never once did it stray awkwardly where his bangs swept across the jagged cut in his skin. A symbol of forever being somehow linked with Lord Voldemort, of how his life was turned upside down and twisted. The small gesture was eagerly welcomed, and without noticing, he gave a small smile. A ghost of one. In this condition, with rain splattering against the car, jammed into a sweaty, wet taxi with seats that smelled like day old bologna, nothing was too great. Except the little things.

Hermione smiled back, obviously more satisfied than she had been since the beginning of the train ride. Leaning farther back into the cushions of the seat, thinking twice and lifting herself (while regarding the torn up smelly leather with a look of mild disgust), and turning to face Harry. "Harry, is something wrong?" She asked, softly. Harry refused to look away, but rather stared into Hermione's eyes with gusto, trying to look like he meant it. "Of course not!" His voice lilted into a squeak, and Hermione regained her skeptical look. "I mean, not much can go right when you're stuck in this taxi, right?" He gave a halfhearted grin to shake it all off, hoping it looked eager, and glanced away, deeply interested in cleaning his spectacles.


	3. Unexpected Attention

**A.N. **_Wow, guys, your reviews are fantastic. xD I love them so much, they keep me going with this story. It's coming fast because I've done a few chapters beforehand, but It'll be going slow very shortly. :( Sorry, guys. Still, your compliments are SO appreciated, you have no idea, and it's great to know people like my writing. 8) If you've gotten this far, I'd like to warn you that this takes place in fourth year (God forbid!), and yes, the IC storyline will be twisted. :( There IS going to be the Triwizard tournament, if you haven't noticed from Mrs. Weasley's odd behavior. A little more AN to read, don't worry--I'm awfully sorry this chapter's so short, but I didn't see how I could merge it with the others. / they kinda have to be together._

_Anyway, to end my painfully long AN, enjoy this chapter. ;3 I hope that you're quite interested in what will happen with Nyx...I'm rather looking forward to writing her. Ciao!_

_  
-Spiffs_

_And I don't want the world to see me,_

'_Cause I don't think that they'd understand_

_When everything's made to be broken_

_I just want you to know who I am._

With a clatter, suitcase, cauldron and books scattered across the ground. People barely stopped to look now, merely parting themselves between the fallen girl, and moving on. Nyx wasn't sure she should be angry, or relieved, because falling through the portal to this…place…wasn't something she wanted everyone to see.

They all seemed in their normal element here. Was she in a different country? She had felt magic laced with something else intertwined with the bricks as she fell through, a mere brush against the back of her mind. It took a few moments to register, but as her eyes fell across the flapping, metal sign shouting, 'Platform Nine and Three Quarters', to the world, she began to realize where she had fallen through.

She felt relief and happiness pour through her, and she watched the train at the tracks. She had a good ten or fifteen minutes before it actually left—it was nice, really, to be early. Gray green eyes swept across the large black mechanism, and she wasn't sure what was going to happen when she got on. She felt magic all around her, freely floating here and there, bobbing in higher places, and laying on objects. She felt the ground beneath her laden with protective spells of some sort, and as she pressed her hand to the once un solid wall, she felt currents of heavy spells lacing through her fingers. Instantly she drew back, on her feet, staring at the train again.

The whistle blew once, merrily, while jets of steam poured upward, twisting to the atmosphere and dissipating into nothing. The warning bell caught her, forcing her back to Earth and concentrating. Hastily she dropped back to her knees, gathering her books to her, up righting her cart, and shoving everything into it at once.

"And who are _you_?" Asked a voice in a sneering fashion. Nyx took a moment to look up, fingers hovering over a spellbook lying open on the ground. Her eyes lifted, catching sight of a boy with sharp features, lacey silvery blonde hair falling into his face. His voice matched his face, a cold reflection of a sneer. He wasn't bad looking at all, actually. The fact that he held himself in such a cocky manner, eyes looking her up and down as though he knew what was better and what was not, made him seem uglier. She caught his eye for a moment, gave a small smile, and looked down, choosing not to answer the question. Instead, she focused on getting all her books into her cauldron, and then into the cart.

"I _said_ who are_ you_?" She could almost see him folding his arms, though her eyes were locked on the ground, sweeping all she could to her chest. Dumping it all into her cauldron and placing that on top of her suitcases, she got up, rising to her full height, trying to figure out this chap.

"Nyx Shyamm." She responded, giving a small smile that could be interpreted as shy, and wheeling her cart off, not bothering to glance at the boy. She could hear his footsteps as she marched towards the train, wheeling the slightly bent cart as best she could. She felt the hot of the steam from the trains, searching for a place to store her luggage, while the boy with startlingly light hair sped up to find a place beside her.

"Draco Malfoy," he panted, barely doubling over as he held out a hand to shake. She observed it for a moment, and grasped it quickly, letting it rise and fall before her hand went back to the handle of the cart, moving it back and forth gently, in a rocking motion. She could feel his eyes bore into her, as he probably did to many, the disgusted look that seemed jammed into his face barely flinching into another emotion as he tried a smile. It came out as a small smirk. "You a Slytherin?" He asked, as though it were a question everyone asked. Off hand, barely a breeze of a question. Nyx looked uncomfortable, desperately wishing to find the man who would take her luggage. "Well—" She began, fumbling with a loose thread in her jacket. She was suddenly aware everyone was wearing their robes, except for the straggling first years looking just as bewildered as her, though they had their parents as comfort, offering their black Hogwarts robes. Nyx looked away, realizing she still hadn't answered. "Well—" she started over, trying to catch the words she couldn't find. How the heck could she explain it all?

"I'm new here." She tried, testing the words she'd have to use over and over again on her tongue. They rolled in a distinct way, giving her an unpleasant taste. It was going to be an odd year.

Draco was silent, and Nyx ventured a look. It still held his haughty sneer, but it was tinted with a look of disgust. "You don't look like a first year." He commented, giving her a flick-of-the-eye-up-and-down look. She paled, and then blushed, hands sliding across the width of the handle. "I—it's a long story." She sighed, blowing through her lips in an exasperated manner. Draco looked like he was about to walk away. Fine by her. He carried such an air of haughty rudeness, it was hard getting her words straight. They stood in awkward silence, before she heard a string of snorts and chuckles from her fair haired companion as he walked away, back vibrating with laughter he didn't bother holding back in front of her.

That stung. Fighting back insults and swallowing the tears threatening to appear, she shoved her cart forward again, eyes seeking for the last time the man who was to take her luggage._  
_


	4. On the Hogwarts Express

**A.N.** _Wow, chapter four! nn I hope you guys are enjoying my fic, because I really love writing it. Soon it's going to be coming in slower, and it's soon going to become harder to write it, but please be patient! I love my reviewers--it gives me such a great sense of pride. A shout to Pokes, because she reassured me when times were pretty sucky that my fic was good, and though my self esteem was rock bottom, she kept me going. You rock, Pokes, and I just have to put that in here. Ciao 'till next chapter!  
-Spiffeh_

_What if I wanted to break  
Laugh it all off in your face  
What would you do?  
What if I fell to the floor  
Couldn't take all this anymore  
What would you do?_

The rain still fell in sheets as the three stepped from the car, grunting as they heaved out their luggage, coaxing Crookshanks from the car. They were attempting to make good time, and it turned out for the better. They were a good ten minutes early, which was something that never really happened to them.

At least not to Harry.

Wheeling their crammed carts across the ground to the wall that was Platform Nine and Three Quarters, they all gave a small look to each other. They were silent, knowing looks that only friends could read. This is a new year. What's going to happen now?

Hermione gave a small, reassuring smile, Ron looked half blank half worried, and Harry stared boldly ahead, eyeing the wall. It wasn't anything new—none of this was. Though the prospect of a new year was fresh and amazing. Sirius was bound to fly a letter back somehow—it was a waste of time to worry. Now he had gotten Hermione worked up about it.

Ron sensed almost a tension, and leaned against his cart, eyeing the two other taxis just pulling in. "I wonder if Winky really DID make the Dark Mark." He murmured, as though it had been on his mind. Harry still stared boldly at the wall, but Hermione's face crumbled into anger, and shot Ron a glare.

"Ron! I can't believe that you'd sink to that level? Can't you _see_ that Winky doesn't even know how to use a wand? She has elf magic! Now if you'd JUST listen to me, Ron, and take in what I said through your thick skull, then—"

Harry adjusted his glasses, rubbing away the rain water that had fogged it up. Fred and George were bouncing forward, and Ginny was moving along behind them, followed by Mrs. Weasley, who was ushering them as quick as possible.

"Come on, everyone! You three go through, now. Go on, go on!"

The sound of Mrs. Weasley's command pulled Harry from his trance, and he stepped through, yielding to the wall. He didn't bother hide that he did it, no one was watching. Everyone was hurrying to get on the train away from the soaking rain. As he stepped through, everything was silenced for a moment—and then suddenly life poured to his ears. Steps clattering, rain drumming on the ground. Hermione, Ron and Ginny stepped through, and then Fred George and Mrs. Weasley appeared. Mrs. Weasley seemed to be scolding, again.

"I thought I told you to keep all those OUT of your pockets!" She gasped as the wand she held turned into a rubber chicken. Fred and George looked in a panic. Ginny was giggling nearby, and she leaned against her cart. "They didn't mean for her to get THAT wand." Harry, Ron and Hermione all looked both shocked and astounded, and then Ron impressed. Ginny—shy, vulnerable Ginny? She giggled again and pushed her cart closer to the train, steam curling and writhing in the stormy sky, battered by droplets of rain.

"My own sister turning into Fred and George. This is nuts." He cried, wheeling his own cart towards the Hogwarts Express, Harry and Hermione following in suit. "Ron, it was bound to happen. I mean, living with _those _two for life is eventually going to do something to you." Hermione heaved her suitcase from the cart, rolling out her cauldron stuffed with books and various other items. "All I want right now," mumbled Harry, with irritation weaving through his voice, "is to be on the train downing a few chocolate frogs. That's _it_." They dragged their suitcases forward, handing them to the man who handled them, and drifted back to Mrs. Weasley, who was half scolding half primping her twin sons, handing them sandwiches. "Don't you EVER even THINK about doing ANYTHING at Hogwarts! Oh, and if I catch you doing anything troubling I swear…with the Tr—I mean, with what Hogwarts has planned coming up, you two better be on double time." Her face had fallen, but shielded into a hard, scolding look. "Have a wonderful time boys, and if I hear that you're stirring trouble, it's back on the Express for you and right at home! Merlin's beard if I had a Sickle for every time you two—" She glanced up, smiling warmly at Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny. "Now you four behave nicely now, study up," She planted a kiss on each of their cheeks, "And stay. Out. Of. Trouble." Her eyes strayed toward Ron and Ginny, but her lips cracked a smile. "On the train with the lot of you! I'll be sending you gifts this time Christmas. Have fun with…what Hogwarts has planned." Her smile was scarily mysterious as they mounted the steps onto the train, and Fred and George were dissolving into anger. "Why won't she tell us?" Cried Fred, cramming himself into a box with a window toward Mrs. Weasley, and poking his head out of the window. "She's our mum! Merlin, if _I _had a Sickle for every time…" George mumbled, sticking his own head out of the lower window. "_What is it_?" George cried, Fred waving his arms. There was an ear shattering whistle, and the train shuddered once, voices half swallowing the creaking of the train.

Mrs. Weasley waved with a mysterious smile at the twins, blowing a kiss to them all, and as the train slid down the wet tracks, called out something they couldn't hear. In moments she was a speck, barely seeable through the thick rain. Fred and George slid through the window, hair plastered to their forehead, and into the seat. "What a mum _she_ is." Grumbled Fred, but George leaned against him, whispering something to his twin. Fred instantly silenced, face brightening, and leaned toward George, and they talked in soft whispers thereon.

"What they're up to we'll never know." Sighed Ron, and they all filtered from the box to their own seats, finding a comfortable spot near the center of the cart. Sitting in silence, Ginny yawned. "I'm going to go find my friends. See you guys." She was off, flaming hair whipping around a corner as she flitted from the seat.

Ron's eyes lingered out of the box, watching Ginny leave. His mouth opened, but his eyes suddenly widened. "Who is _that_?" Ron murmured with sudden interest. Harry peered across the aisle to a deserted seat where a young woman was sitting, presumably their age. She looked to be about fourteen. "She's _hot_." Ron laughed, eyebrows arching, a smile dancing across his face. Hermione looked miffed, her own eyes narrowing to small slits. "She is not _hot_." Hermione snapped, peering around the corner as well. "And she looks sad to me, is all." Her eyes sparked with sympathy for a moment, and she scooted for a better look. "I don't recall seeing her. How could she be new?" Hermione pondered, clutching Crookshanks to her lap. Ron's face fell, "She's probably a first year." He said, suddenly crestfallen. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't be silly. First years look much younger than she does. She's obviously our age." She paused, suddenly looking quite confused, "She must be. Don't you think, Harry?"

"Yeah." Harry replied, not really there. There was no question that she wasn't pretty. Hot may not place it, really. Hot was a universal word for someone who was physically attractive in some way. It didn't have to mean her face was pretty, but her body was curvy or thin, and she appealed to the opposite gender. She was a bit further than hot could explain, her hair a deep brown, almost black, falling across her shoulders in glossy waves. Her neck was slender and long, eyes a shade of pale gray green, to match a pretty face with delicate features. Her jaw was angular, pairing with high cheekbones and slightly slanted eyes. Her posture was compelling, the way she sat, thoughtful, with a glint of far off sadness dwelling in the sparks of her eyes. Her hands were pooled in her lap, and strangely enough she wasn't wearing the school robes, but instead a rather Muggle-like jacket and jeans. The light that fell through the glass onto her illuminated her features, highlighting her dark hair, her large, rounded lips.

"She's not _hot_, Ron." Hermione sighed, apparently shooting back at something he had said.

"No, Hermione, she's hot." Replied Harry, nodding his head with a small grin.


	5. And When I Met Your Eyes

_What if I wanted to break  
Laugh it all off in your face  
What would you do?  
What if I fell to the floor  
Couldn't take all this anymore  
What would you do?_

The rain still fell in sheets as the three stepped from the car, grunting as they heaved out their luggage, coaxing Crookshanks from the car. They were attempting to make good time, and it turned out for the better. They were a good ten minutes early, which was something that never really happened to them.

At least not to Harry.

Wheeling their crammed carts across the ground to the wall that was Platform Nine and Three Quarters, they all gave a small look to each other. They were silent, knowing looks that only friends could read. This is a new year. What's going to happen now?

Hermione gave a small, reassuring smile, Ron looked half blank half worried, and Harry stared boldly ahead, eyeing the wall. It wasn't anything new—none of this was. Though the prospect of a new year was fresh and amazing. Sirius was bound to fly a letter back somehow—it was a waste of time to worry. Now he had gotten Hermione worked up about it.

Ron sensed almost a tension, and leaned against his cart, eyeing the two other taxis just pulling in. "I wonder if Winky really DID make the Dark Mark." He murmured, as though it had been on his mind. Harry still stared boldly at the wall, but Hermione's face crumbled into anger, and shot Ron a glare.

"Ron! I can't believe that you'd sink to that level? Can't you _see_ that Winky doesn't even know how to use a wand? She has elf magic! Now if you'd JUST listen to me, Ron, and take in what I said through your thick skull, then—"

Harry adjusted his glasses, rubbing away the rain water that had fogged it up. Fred and George were bouncing forward, and Ginny was moving along behind them, followed by Mrs. Weasley, who was ushering them as quick as possible.

"Come on, everyone! You three go through, now. Go on, go on!"

The sound of Mrs. Weasley's command pulled Harry from his trance, and he stepped through, yielding to the wall. He didn't bother hide that he did it, no one was watching. Everyone was hurrying to get on the train away from the soaking rain. As he stepped through, everything was silenced for a moment—and then suddenly life poured to his ears. Steps clattering, rain drumming on the ground. Hermione, Ron and Ginny stepped through, and then Fred George and Mrs. Weasley appeared. Mrs. Weasley seemed to be scolding, again.

"I thought I told you to keep all those OUT of your pockets!" She gasped as the wand she held turned into a rubber chicken. Fred and George looked in a panic. Ginny was giggling nearby, and she leaned against her cart. "They didn't mean for her to get THAT wand." Harry, Ron and Hermione all looked both shocked and astounded, and then Ron impressed. Ginny—shy, vulnerable Ginny? She giggled again and pushed her cart closer to the train, steam curling and writhing in the stormy sky, battered by droplets of rain.

"My own sister turning into Fred and George. This is nuts." He cried, wheeling his own cart towards the Hogwarts Express, Harry and Hermione following in suit. "Ron, it was bound to happen. I mean, living with _those _two for life is eventually going to do something to you." Hermione heaved her suitcase from the cart, rolling out her cauldron stuffed with books and various other items. "All I want right now," mumbled Harry, with irritation weaving through his voice, "is to be on the train downing a few chocolate frogs. That's _it_." They dragged their suitcases forward, handing them to the man who handled them, and drifted back to Mrs. Weasley, who was half scolding half primping her twin sons, handing them sandwiches. "Don't you EVER even THINK about doing ANYTHING at Hogwarts! Oh, and if I catch you doing anything troubling I swear…with the Tr—I mean, with what Hogwarts has planned coming up, you two better be on double time." Her face had fallen, but shielded into a hard, scolding look. "Have a wonderful time boys, and if I hear that you're stirring trouble, it's back on the Express for you and right at home! Merlin's beard if I had a Sickle for every time you two—" She glanced up, smiling warmly at Harry, Hermione, Ron and Ginny. "Now you four behave nicely now, study up," She planted a kiss on each of their cheeks, "And stay. Out. Of. Trouble." Her eyes strayed toward Ron and Ginny, but her lips cracked a smile. "On the train with the lot of you! I'll be sending you gifts this time Christmas. Have fun with…what Hogwarts has planned." Her smile was scarily mysterious as they mounted the steps onto the train, and Fred and George were dissolving into anger. "Why won't she tell us?" Cried Fred, cramming himself into a box with a window toward Mrs. Weasley, and poking his head out of the window. "She's our mum! Merlin, if _I _had a Sickle for every time…" George mumbled, sticking his own head out of the lower window. "_What is it_?" George cried, Fred waving his arms. There was an ear shattering whistle, and the train shuddered once, voices half swallowing the creaking of the train.

Mrs. Weasley waved with a mysterious smile at the twins, blowing a kiss to them all, and as the train slid down the wet tracks, called out something they couldn't hear. In moments she was a speck, barely seeable through the thick rain. Fred and George slid through the window, hair plastered to their forehead, and into the seat. "What a mum _she_ is." Grumbled Fred, but George leaned against him, whispering something to his twin. Fred instantly silenced, face brightening, and leaned toward George, and they talked in soft whispers thereon.

"What they're up to we'll never know." Sighed Ron, and they all filtered from the box to their own seats, finding a comfortable spot near the center of the cart. Sitting in silence, Ginny yawned. "I'm going to go find my friends. See you guys." She was off, flaming hair whipping around a corner as she flitted from the seat.

Ron's eyes lingered out of the box, watching Ginny leave. His mouth opened, but his eyes suddenly widened. "Who is _that_?" Ron murmured with sudden interest. Harry peered across the aisle to a deserted seat where a young woman was sitting, presumably their age. She looked to be about fourteen. "She's _hot_." Ron laughed, eyebrows arching, a smile dancing across his face. Hermione looked miffed, her own eyes narrowing to small slits. "She is not _hot_." Hermione snapped, peering around the corner as well. "And she looks sad to me, is all." Her eyes sparked with sympathy for a moment, and she scooted for a better look. "I don't recall seeing her. How could she be new?" Hermione pondered, clutching Crookshanks to her lap. Ron's face fell, "She's probably a first year." He said, suddenly crestfallen. Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't be silly. First years look much younger than she does. She's obviously our age." She paused, suddenly looking quite confused, "She must be. Don't you think, Harry?"

"Yeah." Harry replied, not really there. There was no question that she wasn't pretty. Hot may not place it, really. Hot was a universal word for someone who was physically attractive in some way. It didn't have to mean her face was pretty, but her body was curvy or thin, and she appealed to the opposite gender. She was a bit further than hot could explain, her hair a deep brown, almost black, falling across her shoulders in glossy waves. Her neck was slender and long, eyes a shade of pale gray green, to match a pretty face with delicate features. Her jaw was angular, pairing with high cheekbones and slightly slanted eyes. Her posture was compelling, the way she sat, thoughtful, with a glint of far off sadness dwelling in the sparks of her eyes. Her hands were pooled in her lap, and strangely enough she wasn't wearing the school robes, but instead a rather Muggle-like jacket and jeans. The light that fell through the glass onto her illuminated her features, highlighting her dark hair, her large, rounded lips.

"She's not _hot_, Ron." Hermione sighed, apparently shooting back at something he had said.

"No, Hermione, she's hot." Replied Harry, nodding his head with a small grin.


	6. I Swear It Was Infinite

_I was blinded by the lights  
I saw the reflecting in her eyes  
It blinded me from the sea  
Of everybody's smiles  
And I was young and best  
So I'd thought I'd test the night_

Hermione looked at Harry half hurt, and turned away from them all. Apparently saying that wasn't the best thing to do at the time—but honestly, it was what he had to say. Ron's face lit up, humored and almost relieved that Harry thought the same. Teetering on the edge of a fight or a bicker wasn't his best position, and it took Harry's agreement to get him calmed. Hermione let her back fall to the cushioned seat, and she sat in silence for a moment. Her eyes flicked from Harry and Ron to the first-year-or-was-it-fourth-year girl, suddenly finding a bad taste in her mouth. The sympathy for her had washed away completely, and Hermione was compelled out of nowhere to give a stern talk to this chit for—

Well, there was nothing for her to give a talk about. Harry and Ron were giggling in the way boys do, their voices lowered, eyes switching from the epicenter of their comedy to each other. Hermione tested a glare on them, but they ignored it. What was with them? Suddenly seeing someone mildly good looking, and they were boiling down to the boys they were. Hermione didn't expect any less from Ron, but it surprised her that Harry was being tugged into the pit of immaturity. Was it a faze? God help her it was a faze.

Harry broke off from laughing, suddenly finding the hunger to take another look at this girl. He hadn't seen her before…but she couldn't be a first year. No, she couldn't be a first year…she was too…mature looking? Tall? Large? There were no words to place it, and no evidence that she actually was fourth year, but it was like intuition. He knew it, and if he was wrong, then he'd eat his Monster Book of Monsters right there on the train, God help him if he severed his tongue and a few fingers in the process. He felt his eyes rest on her, her chin tilted agonizingly away. He wanted to see her face, and he willed her to turn. Did she feel his eyes dig in the nape of her neck? Could she feel those eyes bore through her hair, trying to picture what she was thinking?

And then, as if by magic, her chin trembled once, and he could feel her emotions teetering on the edge of the blade. Give away her interest, or back off from it, and ignore the threesome entirely. Was she…? It seemed to resist, as though pondering weather or not it was worth it. Harry knew by now she wanted to, so the suspense was rolling downhill. The climbing, breath-taking idea that she may not was long past, and Harry looked away, suddenly wondering what was up with Hermione. Was she—mad? She couldn't be serious. For them calling this girl they'd never met hot? Was she offended? He turned, about to say something encouraging, but found Hermione plastered to her seat, eyes staring heatedly out the window. Cringing inwardly, he decided to lay off her until she cooled down. Ron, at this point, was giving small glances at Hermione, worried, and then pitifully longing ones at the girl.

There came the hunger. It rolled and boiled in the back of his throat, and he felt so compelled to try and snag another look. Though, at the same time, he didn't want to look like Ron, who spelled it so clearly out to Hermione this girl was worth his attention—Hermione looked so hurt from it…so put down, that—

One look would do, and that'd be it. He felt a shimmering sensation dance along his spine, and he lifted his eyes to greet the dark haired girl, and—

He froze. His scar fizzed uncomfortably, his eyes burned—a searing, endless pain that dully throbbed in the back of his head—but his heart leapt in his chest. He felt the blood rush to his face as he met her misty gray-green eyes. He barely felt them widen, felt his face burn and prickle with a flush…as panic poured through his throat, he felt it all fade slowly away. Her eyes were gone in a flash of green, and his heart was still pounding rapidly. He clutched his hands together, weaving each finger through the other, trying to figure out what happened.

'Wait_', _he thought, breath finally slowly, 'what just_…what? What happened?' _


	7. Author's Noteplease read!

_A quick little author's note! Whoopeeeee..._

Hey guys, it's Spiff here just asking you a question as to if you want me to keep this fic going or not. I could easily set myself to do another fic, and I don't know if you guys are enjoying this fic as much as I have been. It's not lack of reviews that's putting me down, it's just my lack of enthusiasm to continue it, and I hate that. I know you guys aren't too fond of OC stories, but I can't get enough of them! Funny how that works, right?

I don't know what to say, just I'm not sure if I should continue or not. I'd love to try my hand at another HP fic, or even a Teen Titans if I really want to. I'm just not sure, and I don't know what to do. x(

We'll see what happens...?

-Spiffeh


	8. AUTHOR'S NOTE: a toast to pokes

Pokes, I've tried two ways to get to you now I've read this, so this is the third time I've tried typing this.

Not that it's bad. Please don't think of it that way. If you're still here, that it. Oh my God, when I learned…when I read that, I started crying. Weeping, Pokes. You don't understand. I was on my bed curled up for five minutes, waiting for the neomail telling me if it was true. I checked my FF just as they said, and there it was, two explaining reviews, and I wasn't even online to tell you goodbye.

Please still be here, Pokes. I can't bare to have you be gone. I was banned from the computer for a little, and then I just stayed off. Ironically, I had this little feeling. And I felt so guilty. Oh, Pokes.

The story how I found out is boring. But I just want to say, Pokes, you're my best online friend ever, and one of my best friends, online or not. You were there to the end in everything. Everything. You can't imagine the pain it took when I saw those words that you had "passed on". Pokes doesn't pass on. She can't.

If you're gone (I'm crying again, great.) then everyone who reads this remember Pokes. Just try and think to the best friend you've had, and imagine them dying. It hurts a lot.

I remember all the good times we had. Looking on this optimistically, the good times we will continue to have.

God, don't go Pokes. I can't take it.


End file.
